April 19th. Delightful breeze this morning which, on account of the extreme heat for this season, is most enjoyable. There is a good deal of firing in front where the men are at work, but that is now the regular routine. Had a slim breakfast; supplies giving out, no more soft bread; hard tack, salt pork, coffee, and canned fruit make up our daily bill of fare, which tells upon our physiognomy. Most of us are growing lean.
Hear many rumors again to-day. In our front the batteries are making rapid progress and expect to open in less than two weeks; from the rear the news is not so satisfactory: it seems the hospital service at Ship Point is sadly inadequate to the needs of the army, at least that is the report. There are only two surgeons to care for four hundred men, no beds or covering, and a great want of proper remedies and appliances. In the meantime, the men are lying on the floor and dying in great numbers. It seems most of the trouble is caused by red tape, the supplies being on hand, but the officer who controls them not to be found. This sounds much like the affairs of the British before Sebastopol, but I am satisfied this state of affairs will be quickly changed, as soon as it is known how matters stand. Sergeant Morse, of the Fifty-seventh, died there this morning. One of the principal causes of our limited larder is absence of the sutler, who has not shown up since we left Alexandria. We are absolutely without money, not having been paid since the 25th of January, and in consequence are obliged to live upon plain soldiers’ fare, bought from the commissary on tick. We hear, as we have many times before, that the paymaster will soon arrive, but hope deferred has made our hearts very sick.
